


Interval

by Tripleransom



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 00:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripleransom/pseuds/Tripleransom
Summary: Watson returns alone from the Reichenbach Falls.  It' s difficult for him.





	Interval

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mightymads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightymads/gifts).



> NB: This was not the story I intended to write, but Life happened and it came out much darker than I intended. The only saving grace is, we all know what happens next, don't we?

**Summary:** Watson returns alone from the Reichenbach Falls. It' s difficult for him. 

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**Interval**

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Alone in the railway carriage, I sank my head in my hands and gave way to despair. Every thrum of the steel wheels carrying me further from Switzerland seemed to beat in my mind over and over: "Holmes is dead…Holmes is dead…Holmes is dead…" until I thought I should go mad from it. 

****

The tiny thread of hope that had sustained me as the Swiss authorities and I sought fruitlessly along the banks of the river below the Reichenbach Falls for bodies, a scrap of clothing, anything, something, that would indicate that he had somehow survived or at least tell me of his fate, died at last as I boarded the train for home and England. 

****

Crossing the Channel, it was no better. I could not eat, could not sleep; the very waves that slapped against the boat seemed to repeat the refrain "Holmes is dead…Holmes is dead" 

****

Coming down the gangplank, I spotted a familiar figure waiting. Lestrade, bless him, had met the boat. He said nothing, only clasped my shoulder in a rare display of comradeship. His face, too bore the marks of sorrow. He seemed to know intuitively that I did was incapable of talking, and asked no questions of me, though he must have been fairly bursting with curiosity. "I've come to take you home, Doctor," was all he said as he hailed us a four wheeler. "Unless…" he hesitated and swallowed hard, "Mr, Mr Holmes wishes to speak to you, there are arrangements to be made. But would you rather go home and rest for a while first?"

****

I shook my head. I could not face Mycroft Holmes, not yet. He would naturally have questions as to the manner of his brother's death and how I could have failed him and left him alone to die at the crucial moment. "Home," I said thickly and realised with a pang that it meant Queen Anne, rather than Baker Street. It was practically the only word I uttered on the drive. 

****

As we pulled up to the curb, I saw to my surprise that there was a crowd gathered. "Oh, devil take it," Lestrade muttered. "Those damned reporters have got wind of your arrival. Just you wait here, Doctor and I'll attempt to clear them away." I heard his hectoring voice commanding them to get back, although it seemed to come from a long ways away. Presently, he appeared at the door and took my arm. "Come on Doctor, let's make a run for it. Keep your head down and don't answer any questions unless you want to."

****

Thankfully, Mary Anne opened the door promptly and we all but fell into the hall as Lestrade slammed the door in the faces of the jostling crowd. "Damned vultures," he muttered. "Begging your pardon, Mrs Watson - I should have had some of the boys here to keep them back, but that might have made things worse."

****

"Not at all, Inspector," Mary replied, her face set. "That's a proper word for them. They've been waiting here all morning. One of them even tried to bribe May Anne for an "inside story" when she shook the rug out."

****

I saw as though a fog Mary's anxious face as she swept me into her embrace. I stood woodenly in her arms. At that moment, I only wanted to be alone with my grief. 

****

"Well," said Lestrade, awkwardly twisting his hat in his hands, "I'll leave you two now. I can put some men outside to keep that lot away. There's not a man who won't volunteer for that duty." He clasped my shoulder again briefly and with an uncertain smile at Mary, he left us.

****

After a few days, during which I steadfastly refused to give interviews, all but the most persistent of the reporters melted away. There was one in particular who always seemed to be lounging about, keeping an eye on the door, but eventually he, too, took himself away in search of some fresh novelty, although I could not shake off the feeling that there were still hangers-on outside, waiting for something of interest to happen - what, I could not imagine.

****

Word came from Mycroft Holmes asking me if I wished to give the eulogy at Holmes's memorial service, but I refused, feeling that not only was it more fitting for him to do it, but I was not sure I could get through a speech anyway.

****

The day of the service was lovely, cool and sunny, with a little breeze, although I could not help but feel that rain and fog might be more appropriate. There was a crowd, of course. Half London's police force seemed to be in attendance, along with a selection of Holmes's former clients, a half-dozen street Arabs and the inevitable reporters. There was also a hard-faced man with a grey moustache and cold blue eyes whom I could not place. After the service, he came up to me and shook my hand. "My condolences on the loss of your…friend, Dr Watson," he said. Was it my imagination, or did he hesitate just slightly over the words and look at me sharply? He did not say his name, but I knew him for a military man immediately. I had not lived with Sherlock Holmes for nothing. He looked at me for a moment longer, but I said nothing other than a murmured word of thanks, so at length he sketched a stiff little bow to my wife and moved on. 

****

The sun had gone in by now and the breeze had a chill to it. Beside me, I felt Mary give a little shiver, like a horse twitching away a fly. "I don't like that man," she said, looking after him as he walked away. I had almost made up my mind to ask Mycroft Holmes about him, but somehow, it didn't seem to be worth the effort. As we walked back to our waiting hansom, I looked back one more time toward the empty grave to see a slim young man in black walk up to the marker and carefully lay something down; another admirer with flowers, I supposed.

****

Afterwards, I thankfully relapsed back to the house and my fog of numbness.

****

It should have been a frustrating time, being essentially confined to the house, but as I was in no mood to venture forth, I simply let the days roll past me. I tried to write, hoping that setting the story of Holmes's last days and his triumph over Moriarty and his gang down on paper would ease my mind, but the words would not come. Much of the time, I simply stared at the pages on my desk. 

****

Mary tried her best to distract me; she brought me cups of tea and sandwiches, most of which I sent away untasted. At last, she took me by the hand. "John," she said, "you simply can't go on like this. Let me help you." Blushing, she kissed me and led me to our bedroom. That night, I clung to her. She seemed to be the only thing left that mattered in my world. 

****

At last, she brought me some news that broke through to me. She had been gone most of the morning - shopping with Mary Anne, I supposed dully. She coughed as she came into the room. It was a nervous habit she had developed, no doubt, I thought as a result of the strain she was under. 

****

She hesitated at the door as I sat looking at the blank pages of my manuscript, then crossed the room and sat down on the settee. "John," she said, patting the seat beside her. "Come and sit with me, I have something to tell you."

****

Tossing my latest attempt in the general direction of the waste-paper basket, I crossed the room to her. 

****

"Darling," she began abruptly, "I've wonderful news. I'd hoped, but I didn't want to say anything until I was certain, but now I am. I saw Dr Anstruther this morning. I'm going to have a baby."

****

"A baby!" I repeated stupidly.

****

"Well, you are a doctor," she said with a little smile. "It can't be a such a great surprise." She slipped from her seat and knelt down beside me, laying her head in my lap. "Darling, aren't you happy?" she asked. She was a breathless with excitement, I noticed. "It's what I've - we've - longed for at last." 

****

I roused myself then and lifted her back beside me and into my embrace. I felt as if my heart, long stopped, had started beating again. "Of course I'm happy, my darling," I said, and finally I meant it. Resting my head on her bright hair, I held her close, feeling her warmth. For the first time since that terrible day in April, I felt as if the sun had broken through the clouds at last. I smiled and kissed her. It was a promise for the future. It would be enough to go on, I thought.

****

It would have to be.

****


End file.
